‘No, I don’t.’ Nell waved the bottle, swaying slightly. ‘But I know men. They’re kids, the lot of them. As soon as you know that, you can handle them. How do you think I manage Paul? I think of him as a poor lost toddler and work from there.’
Carla laughed. ‘Maybe I should have been a lesbian.’
Nell shook her head, digging out her cigarettes from her jacket. ‘Big hetero misconception – that there’s a choice. Or that it’s any easier,’ Nell added, holding up her lighter. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Out the window,’ Carla said, picking up her tobacco.
‘For God’s sake, have a real one for once, live a little.’ And pushing a Marlboro into her hand, Nell headed to the window seat.
As they smoked, they watched the last of the night’s drinkers stagger home, kebabs in hand. The cool night air was a welcome relief after the day’s heat, and as clouds began to gather, the air became lighter.
‘What do you think about the whole Mary thing?’ Nell asked her. ‘Is she our chief suspect?’
Carla didn’t know and in truth, right then she didn’t care.
Nell sighed into the night. ‘I need to get a life, don’t I?’
‘Yeah, you do. Anyone on the horizon?’
‘Nah. Hard to meet people in this job, you know?’ Nell dropped her cigarette into the street below.
‘Have you tried a dating site?’
‘God, no. I’m not really a big sell, am I? Cop, out more hours than I’m in. Drink more than I should, and can’t make a washing machine work for love nor money.’
Carla laughed. It felt good. Made her feel lighter. ‘You’re gorgeous, Nell. You’d have everyone queuing up in a second.’
Nell lit another cigarette. ‘Well, you’re pretty hot yourself. I mean that in a totally platonic way, of course.’
Carla grinned. ‘Of course.’ She accepted the cigarette Nell held out for her and took a mouthful of wine.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve been a nightmare to work with.’
Carla looked up, surprised. ‘You’ve not.’
‘Yeah, I have, a little. Well, sometimes more than a little.’ Nell held up her forearm, street light catching the lines of hot pink skin. ‘Seems I haven’t put the attack to bed in quite the way I’d hoped I had.’
Carla looked at the scars. She knew about the attack, they all did; the whole station had been on alert for days until they knew she would survive.
‘I’m sorry the analyst missed the knife.’
Nell covered her arm. ‘Wasn’t your fault. And I’m sorry if I took it out on you.’
They sat for a while, backs against the window frame. Carla closed her eyes. She felt good. Maybe it was going to be OK. Being without Baz. She yawned and thought of Mary. Where was she now? Out there somewhere, in Oxford, but how were they going to find her if she’d disappeared without a trace?
‘No one just disappears,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘If it is Mary from the beach, we need an address, a telephone number, a car licence plate, just something to start us off. It’s got to be there, we just haven’t looked hard enough yet.’
Nell smiled.
‘What?’
‘Even in the midst of heartache, you remain an analyst first.’ She leaned in and pointed her empty glass at Carla. ‘Remember that, Brown.’ Then she pulled back. ‘Now to bed. We have a woman to find in the morning and I’ve a feeling this one’s going to be a challenge, even for you.’
Forty-six
Now
He is asleep. I listen to the sound of his breathing and feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. Then, when I’m sure, I get up and leave.
I walk to the kitchen, pull open the fridge and pour more wine, then sit at the table and drink.
‘Hey there, still on the wine?’
‘Don’t be mean, Aoife.’ I’m not in the mood for her teasing.
‘Oh, dumbo, I’m just kidding.’
‘Our baby is back.’
Aoife is silent.
‘And I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do, Aoife.’
‘Is she pretty?’
I want to tell her she is beautiful like her mother, with hair the colour of sunset and eyes as big as the moon, but instead I say, ‘She wants to meet us.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘I’m not sure. Let me think.’
While she does, I drink more. I finish the bottle and open another. As I pour, Aoife replies.
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’
I feel relief. ‘No, I don’t think so either.’
‘I don’t see where it would get us really. I mean, it’s done now, isn’t it? We can’t be her mum like we planned, so what’s the point?’
‘I agree.’
‘Did she say why she came to find us?’
‘Just to thank us, I think, for saving her.’
‘Hmmm. Is that the real reason, though?’
‘That’s what I said.’
‘To your husband?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well it doesn’t surprise me he’s taking the easy option. Weak, that man. I’ve told you before.’
‘He’s not.’ But I don’t say it emphatically. It will only wind her up, and then she’ll go on for hours.
‘All men are the same. They say they love women, but they’re scared of us. They know that if they let us out of our boxes for long enough, we’ll find out how crap they really are. We’re their mirrors – they project the image they want to see onto us, but they know it’s only a matter of time until the mirror breaks and they see themselves for what they really are.’
I’ve heard this so many times it almost lulls me to sleep.
‘I’m sorry, am I keeping you up?’ she snaps.
‘No. It’s late, I should go to bed.’
‘Not until we’ve decided what to do about the baby.’
I suddenly have a thought. ‘Do you miss her, Aoife? I do. Well, the thought of what she could have been, at least.’
‘No, I don’t. How can I miss something I never had?’
I want to remind her she had her for eight months, hidden in her stomach, but I know Aoife well enough to realise when she’s put the wall up it’s far too high for anyone to climb over.
‘You’re going to have to get rid of her.’
‘But how?’
‘Hasn’t Eve been any help?’
‘No. All Eve cares about is protecting her own back.’
‘Well, she’s another one we need to get rid of, but first let’s sort the baby. You just need to use your initiative like you did with Connor. Which, by the way, I didn’t know you had in you. Well, obviously that’s not true, but I thought that ship had long since left the port, if you know what I mean.’
‘I didn’t enjoy it, Aoife.’
‘Really, not even a little? Not when you pictured Alf’s face there instead of Connor’s?’
I hadn’t seen his face. I’d attacked from behind. Once a coward, always a coward. He’d been out cold from the get-go, helped along by alcohol, no doubt, and it hadn’t felt like I was killing a man. He hadn’t moved, save for the movement from my blows, and so it felt more like killing a rat than a human – the way you keep on hitting even after you know it’s dead, just to make sure it doesn’t jump up and bite you.
I take the empty bottle to the sink and open the cupboard below. Taking out a plastic bag, I wrap the bottle in it and shove it far to the back before putting the half-full one back in the fridge.
‘Night, then.’ She sounds sulky, but I’m too tired to care.
‘Don’t be mad at me, Aoife. I miss you.’
‘I know you do.’ Her voice is softer now. ‘I miss you too.’
I stand in the kitchen, moonlight catching the edges of the sink. ‘I’ll find a way to sort our baby.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I know you are.’
I want to cry. To li
e on the floor and howl like I did in the home, sobbing until I was so exhausted I fell asleep, the crusty old carpet poking into my skin. I want oblivion.
‘Go to bed, my lovely,’ Aoife whispers in my ear. ‘See you in your dreams.’
Forty-seven
Nell woke to the sound of workmen drilling the pavement outside, a taste of alcohol in her mouth, and an imprint of the sofa on the side of her face. Pulling herself upright, she took in the discarded wine bottles and the makeshift ashtray on the window seat, all of which brought with them seeping memories of last night.
‘Hey, you’re awake. I’ve got you a coffee.’ Carla held out a mug and smiled. Her hair was perfectly styled, her lips red, and Nell cursed her for being so together after all they’d drunk.
‘Thanks.’ She took the coffee and sipped, wincing at the burn on her tongue. ‘You OK?’
‘Yes, I think I am.’ Carla sat down next to her and Nell shifted slightly away, aware she must smell of alcohol, fags and sleep.
‘Thanks for last night.’
‘You’re welcome. Thanks for coming up.’
Nell took another sip, this time braced for the heat.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Carla said, her expression suddenly thoughtful. ‘If Mary has been targeting Eve, and was involved in Connor’s murder, I bet there’s something in the phone bills I got from the Telephone Unit that will identify her. I mean, stalkers – which is what she basically is – evolve. The contact they have with their victims has to be sufficient to sate their desire, so although originally happy with letters – maybe the odd glance through a front-room window – gradually that will cease to be enough. They’ll need more contact – braver contact, more direct – to get that same feeling of satisfaction. Eve started to get the letters months ago, right?’
Nell’s hangover was struggling to keep up so she just nodded.
‘So, I don’t think Mary would have been content to stick with that for all this time. I think she’d have wanted a different form of contact, and I think somewhere in the investigation we’ve already come across it, we just didn’t know it when we saw it.’
‘You think something in the investigation already tells us who this Mary is, and why she killed Connor and is obsessed with Eve?’
‘Yes. We have all the pieces; we just need to put them together to make the right picture.’
Nell thought for a moment. Carla’s theory might be right, but there was a nagging feeling she couldn’t get rid of, one that meant their investigation was about to get a lot more complicated.
‘Do you think Eve is in danger?’ she asked. Carla’s lack of surprise gave Nell her answer.
‘I’ve been thinking about that all night. I think we have to assume she is. If Mary is fixating on Eve, who knows how far she’ll go.’
Paul and Bremer were already in the office when Nell and Carla arrived. Carla hurried over to her computer and within seconds was immersed in every check possible to identify Mary. Bremer called Nell over and handed her a takeout coffee.
‘Thought you might need it. I certainly do.’
Nell didn’t even want to think what Bremer had done the previous evening to warrant a strong black, but she accepted the flat white offered to her.
‘Anything good come out of your visit to the social worker?’ he asked.
‘Well, I’m not sure it’s good news, but she was adamant there was no Eve Wilkes at the care home where Mary grew up.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Paul.
‘It means Eve Graham didn’t go to the care home with Mary,’ Carla called over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to try to confirm, but don’t hold your breath – their records are a nightmare.’
‘So if the connection between Eve and Mary isn’t the care home, what is?’ Paul asked.
‘And why does Eve’s HR record say she attended the home when she didn’t?’ Nell added.
‘Could it be Mary thinks Eve is someone else?’ Bremer asked.
‘Too coincidental,’ Carla called over. ‘The person who killed O’Brian has links to Eve and Joanne, we just don’t know what that connection is yet, just that they’re called Mary.’
‘Are we assuming Mary is our prime suspect?’ Paul asked. Nell looked at Bremer, a deep frown across his brow.
‘I think it’s worth giving that some consideration. Carla, what’s the likelihood of finding anything out about Mary?’
‘Low to zero.’ She swung her chair round to face them. ‘She disappeared from Portsmouth in 1984. I’m going to be lucky to find anything on her, and then of course she could have changed her name. I’ve already checked voters and there isn’t a Mary Balcombe anywhere near the age Mary would be now.’
‘How about a picture?’ Bremer asked. ‘Can we get one from social services?’
‘As I said, their files are bad enough when computerised. Mary’s file will be buried in some warehouse so even if we can find it, it’s going to take a while.’
Nell felt her mood drop a notch. ‘And then we’d have to get an artist to make her look, what, fifty? And then what are we going to do, put out a media appeal?’ The idea was ridiculous; not only would it take too long, it would be like looking for a needle in a country-wide haystack. Hell, she might even have gone abroad and then what would they do, get Interpol involved? She could feel the atmosphere in the office dampen, the realisation that without a photo, an address, a phone number or number plate, Mary was going to be virtually untraceable. And if that’s what the sixteen-year-old had hoped for, she’d made a damn good job of it.
‘I think we need to speak to Joanne,’ Carla said. ‘Get her to tell us what the phone call was about on the night O’Brian died. We also know a woman paid Gloria for access to her second flat. We know Gloria hasn’t managed to identify that woman from the CCTV as Eve, so that leaves us with Joanne and Mary. If Joanne is working with Mary, and it seems to me to be a legitimate assumption at this stage, then we need to start with her.’
‘Agreed.’ Bremer pointed to Nell. ‘Take Paul and go pay a visit to Joanne – surprise her, so she doesn’t have a chance to run. Carla, you get the SIO for the Waites case on the phone and pull him in. If they’re working together, we need to find Mary ASAP before Joanne can warn her.’ He paused. ‘What about Eve? Do we think we need to notify her? Is she at risk?’
‘I think we need to at least warn her. Maybe make sure her husband stays with her, seeing as he’s a cop. I don’t think we need to do anything more yet. The less we make our lines of enquiry public the better.’
Bremer nodded. ‘Agreed. Carla, after you’re finished with the SIO, get hold of the husband and ask him in for a chat. Nell and Paul, we’ll see you later, and if you’ve any doubt over Joanne’s story, bring her in.’
Forty-eight
Then
All I want is to see the baby, know she’s OK. But it’s been hours now, so all I can do is sit on the hospital bed waiting for a social worker to take me to the police.
No one has mentioned her – why has no one asked me about her? I pick at the rough bed sheet and list the things that worry me: the baby; what will happen to me now; whether I will be in trouble for helping Alf; will I go to jail? My mind buzzes with thoughts and I bite my lip until it bleeds.
‘Hey, don’t do that.’
I look up and find the copper who rescued me smiling down at me. He hands me a tissue and I dab it at my lip. I suddenly want to cry. I’d forgotten how gentle his voice is, how it wraps me up and makes me feel safe.
‘Where’s the baby?’ I whisper so the nurses can’t hear. He comes and sits on the bed and takes my hand.
‘Your baby?’
I hesitate. If I say she’s mine maybe they’ll let me keep her? But if I keep her Alf can find her and I don’t want that to happen. It suddenly strikes me I shouldn’t want her found either. She links me to Aoife’s murder just as much as she links Alf.
I’m filled with sadness that I can’t be with her and wish I could have held her for a little long
er in the hope she might remember me.
‘No,’ I say, ‘she was Aoife’s. My friend.’ He nods and I see he knows this already. Of course, I think, they will have found her body by now. I’m consumed by grief and guilt.
‘Shall I tell you a story?’ he asks. I nod, my throat too filled with tears to reply.
‘My mother was sixteen when she had me. Just about your age. She’d been in care all her life and she saw me as the start of her life. The proper life she should have had but didn’t.’
I want to lean into him, rest my head on his shoulder while he talks, but I don’t.
‘She had me in the toilet of the care home she was in. She wrapped me in the blanket she’d bought for me and took me to her room. My mum fed me as she lay on the bed, singing softly. She told me a light breeze came in through the window, making the curtains flutter and a wind chime tingle. It was, she said, the most peaceful she had ever felt and she knew this was why she had been born. To have me.’
He stops for a moment and I stay quiet, understanding that he’s remembering her.
‘She kept me hidden for three days.’ He speaks with pride. ‘Three days she went downstairs for breakfast, lunch and dinner before returning to give me mine. Then one day, the girl in the next bedroom to my mum told the staff she’d heard a baby cry.’ He takes a deep breath and lets his shoulders fall as he exhales.
‘They found me and took me from her. I can’t even begin to know the pain she must have felt, having her life snatched away like that. She told me she screamed and fought and begged them to leave me, but they took me anyway, bundled me into the back of a car, and the last she saw of me was my face wet with tears as they drove me away.’
He seems to run out of breath, so I squeeze his hand just as Aoife used to squeeze mine.
‘But you found her?’
He brightens. ‘I did! Three months ago I managed to track her down after years of searching. She’s lovely. I worried she wouldn’t be my mum, you know?’
I nod. Because I do.
‘But she was my mum right from the off.’ He says this with such love I am almost overwhelmed by it.
When I Lost You Page 19